Mary and Me, Part Two

My earlier Mary thoughts continued on through the taking of Communion. The symbolism of the bread and the wine, body and blood, while my son was growing within me, was especially poignant. Now that he's here in the flesh and I can see for myself his skin, his hair, his fingernails, it's that much more telling.

I think about Mary at the foot of the cross. What would it have been like to have the memories of your tiny baby boy as you watched him, now grown, die a horrible, painful death, knowing that, in part, that death was because of your sin? I can't imagine. I grow emotional at the thought of putting my son through the casting, and possibly surgery, necessary for his own physical development--and that's not even because of something I did wrong. How would I have felt knowing that my son had to experience pain because of me, because of my mistakes, my sins? It would've pretty much killed me.

Why don't I think about Christ's death this way more often? If I could just put myself in Mary's shoes and live with that emotional impact, I think that my life would be so much more purposeful. Because he died for me, for me, and he was more innocent even than my own child is now, shouldn't that affect change in my life? My sin put him on that cross. It just gave me a lot to think about.